


Wampyre!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Major Kingston walks in on the team during preparation for an admittedly bizarre mission involving a supposed Baroness who claims to be from an old line of wampyre, it seems merely an awkward moment, quickly covered by some fancy footwork by their resident con man.  That is, til Kingston's lack of common sense and loose lips create a crisis no one could have expected.  Shades of Bram Stoker, Lon Chaney and Bela Lugosi!





	Wampyre!

It had all started with the usual nonsense, of course, the sort of shenanigans that were frequently hilarious but sometimes had unexpected consequences. Not that that possibility had ever stopped the guys before, and Meghada was increasingly falling into that frame of mind as well. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but it certainly made things interesting and certainly more diverting than most of her other experiences in this violent, frustrating, depressing and seemingly never-ending war. That was the case when the very serious discussion of their upcoming mission took a wide left turn into insanity-land, though she had to admit the mission itself had tinges of insanity about it.

She wasn't under contract any more, and HQ didn't have the authority to co-op her talents, but somehow, Meghada had become the team's go-to for female assistants, or accomplices, or partners-in-crime, or whatever you wanted to term her role.

This time, well, it was one of the more challenging impersonations she'd been required to master, and possibly the most bizarre - Baroness Elisabeta Blutschtein, {"and surely that can't be her real name! Probably originally Gertrude Haggenschleimer from Pittsburgh, or maybe Bertha Dilberry from Little Wapping!"} Meghada also thought that coat of arms the woman kept flaunting was just too much - really, a tipping crystal cup filled with deep crimson liquid with a few drops splashing over the side? Really??

The Baroness was in a unique position to inveigle a certain German General to defect. Of course, the Baroness had no intention, even any thought of doing any such thing, but luckily WAS of the intention to spend a week in an exclusive Monte Carlo resort, where the General also was scheduled to spend time, and where Garrison had a plan to snatch the General, leaving suffient evidence that he HAD defected. HQ thought the Baroness would be a tempting companion for the General, someone he'd leap at the chance of meeting face to face; although they had never met previously, both the Baroness and the General had a propensity for slightly outre amusements, though the General kept his pursuits along those lines well-hidden.

The Baroness, now, she had gained a reputation, more than a little unsavory, but highly attractive to the more jaded members of high society. She had actually hinted at being of an old line of wampyre, or vampires to the less knowledgable, which proved titillating to a ridiculous number of people, like everyone needed a vampire among their close acquaintances! Her supposed first name of Elisabeta played to that, of course, and if any didn't make the connection to the most well-known of the vampires (at least for right now), she made sure one of her cohorts informed them right quickly! Among other things, she was known for being discreet, at least where the names of her sometimes playmates were concerned; her own activities, she was much more open about; well, how would she attract all those eager playmates, otherwise?

So, there Meghada was - looking at the photographs of the woman she was to impersonate, reading the dosier, listening to Actor describe the Baroness (whom he had actually met), her mannerisms, her voice, her walk, her style of dress, her affectations and claims, and most of all, her activities.

Meghada was making a sincere effort to incorporate each of those items into her persona as she was sitting there, thinking the Baroness odd, but perhaps no odder than some of the aristocrats and socialites she'd come across in London recently; that effort included letting her hair down from its usual coronet to be shaken out to hang loose around her (slapping Goniff's fingers away gently, and somewhat reluctantly, as he attempted to play with the loose curls) except for two long thin hastily formed braids dangling from each of her temples that joined together to help hold that mass of hair out of her face as shown in one of the photographs, and drawing that long ruby scarf that had adorned the fireplace mantel around her throat and shoulders, letting the deeply fringed ends hang down her back.

She was already wearing a long floor length darker-than-midnight blue dress with a high waist and Medieval draped sleeves, having stopped in here on her way back from another of those so foolish social things she'd gotten roped into up in London, so the effect was rather stunning, the men had to admit. They'd laughed when Meghada had told them about one of the muckety-mucks actually tripping over one of those trailing sleeves and apologizing profusely to her for his clumsiness, as if sleeves that hung six inches onto the floor and trailed behind her was something he should have been just naturally expecting and looking out for. They'd laughed even harder when she expressed her disgruntlement at the overall reception of that dress.

"Here I went to so much trouble, had Coura make me something so totally inappropriate and ridiculously out of place that even THEY would realize I was making fun of them, just so I wouldn't be pressured to come to their little soirees, and there I was, the declared and reigning fashion belle of their damned ball! Had half the women asking for the name of the designer and the other half asking for tips about managing the sleeves while waltzing! Hell, I just can't win!"

She then grudgingly admitted it wasn't a total loss, "the sleeves CAN be detached so it's totally sleeveless, or can be pulled up with little concealed straps, and the train can be ruched up as well, so I can wear it at somewhat more normal society events, but I was SO hoping it would get the Deveroux family off my tail. Five children, the two young men and the oldest daughter have hopes of me that certainly are not going to be fulfilled, the two younger children want to follow me like puppies, and the parents? Well, I'm not sure what they want, and that makes me more nervous than all the rest!"

That raised some eyebrows, as nervous wasn't a common state for the Dragon, and Goniff had a rather dangerous look about him as he declared quite firmly, "well, they can all just think again, w'atever they 'ave in mind, the whole lot of them. Ruddy toffs!" 

The comments and suggestions kept coming faster and faster as she sank deeper into the Baroness's persona, facial expressions shifting more and more as she felt herself into the decidedly bizarre role. When Actor described one activity that the Baroness ALWAYS included in her repertoire, and which Meghada would have to be able to replicate smoothly and without hesitation, Casino challenged him with a snort, "thought she was supposed to be some real scary broad; don't see what's so scary about that! Hell, sounds kinda fun, ya know?"

Actor rolled his eyes in familiar superior disdain, "I think that might rather depend on the intent and the participants, Casino. In this case, that particular activity is merely the precurser to things not nearly so benign, even if you did consider it so in and of itself, and the Baroness tends to pick unwilling partners for this, or at least unknowledgable ones, so I think it might not be quite so much fun as you are imagining. Her willing partners join in somewhat later and seem to enjoy the activities, certainly. Her unwilling partners tend to, well, disappear, so we cannot easily ascertain their level of enjoyment at any particular point, can we? But you are going to need to be familiar with this, Meghada; it will be expected that you make some demonstration, you know, and truly this is the least malign of her actions you could imitate, though quite memorable, of course, if you do it correctly."

Goniff frowned, "she sounds a nasty piece of work, alright, but Casino's right. What you said first, that don't sound so scary. A little odd, maybe, and can't say I'd be any too interested in trying it, but not scary."

The comments and opinions flew back and forth, and by the time Craig Garrison walked into the room, accompanied unfortunately by Major Kingston and his two aides, as well as Major Kevin Richards, things had gotten well out of hand. Casino, as usual, disclaimed any responsibility for the results.

The door opened, the four men walked in, and froze. Garrison's team was leaning forward in their chairs, studying with intense interest the activity taking place at the side of the room closest to the entrance.

Goniff, short, wiry, with flaxen-blond hair and innocent blue eyes, now slightly wide-eyed and breathing rapidly, his tunic unfastened several buttons lower than would have been expected, was flat up against a wall, his arms bent upright in somewhat of a classic "don't shoot, I give up" position, except that his wrists were gathered close together above his head, firmly in the grip of the sultry-faced female pressed tightly up against him from the waist down. Her long dark almost-black evening dress, set off by the shockingly deep ruby silk scarf around her neck, highlighted her long thick mass of dark red hair.

The slender man swallowed heavily as she moved her lips, her tongue up the center of his bared chest, across his neck, pausing to lick and nibble and scrape her bared teeth over his jugular vein, then his jaw line, and again in the hollow of his throat. She reached to lick at his eyelids, ending with a slow kiss to each. The men could hear the very faint snarling hiss coming from the redhead, and when she raised her head to whisper into the blond man's ear, they could see him shudder and swallow deeply.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" came from the three officers, perhaps slightly different words, but certainly the same meaning and tone. Garrison's admittedly was more in the range of a slightly frustrated and weary "oh, shit, what now?" than the others, but then he had much more experience with all the players in the room. The seated men instantly became more alert, but the tableau being played out didn't change, except for Goniff blinking rapidly and starting to plead out loud.

"Warden! I'm ruddy glad to see you; get 'er off me, will you??! They can't seem to!" His voice indicated sincere relief at the intrusion, even a certain level of desperation, though Garrison was highly skeptical; he knew his men pretty damn well, and was starting to know Meghada far better than he felt really comfortable with sometimes. Oh, the young woman who gardened and sang and tended their hurts and baked goodies for them was just fine; it's just that THAT was just one facet of her, and the other facets could get odder than he'd ever imagined. Just why he'd ever thought she might prove to be a steadying force, a civilizing influence on his guys he couldn't imagine. He put the whole obviously crazy notion down to lack of sleep on his part.

"Alright, just what's going on?"

Actor moved swiftly and expertly into the void, "ah, Lieutenant, it is indeed fortunate you have arrived. We were working with the characterization of the Baroness for the mission, as you instructed, preparing Miss O'Donnell for the role, and the self-hypnosis does seems to have worked, but perhaps too well. She seems to be rather more engaged in the required re-enactment than might prove salutory to Goniff's continued good health. We were hesitant to interfere, since, as you know, you said the hypnosis would leave her totally immersed in the role and trying to force her out of it unexpectedly might prove risky on several counts. Since you are the only person who was given the code words to snap her out of this, perhaps you might be so kind as to do so, before . . ." He gestured rather helplessly toward Goniff and the young woman.

Meghada had purposefully not reacted to the men entering the room, or the conversation up to now; had continued her attentions to Goniff's neck, nuzzling him, perhaps more. He groaned, low and husky, and as he watched her from under his lowered lashes she rather thought he wasn't pretending, at least not entirely; in fact, leaning up against him so closely like she was, she was pretty damn sure he wasn't, even if the insistant throb of his pulse in his temple hadn't already told her that. Truth be told, that groan hit her in ways she hadn't quite been expecting either, it being far too reminiscent of other groans, in different circumstances. Now THAT was something the newcomers just did NOT need to know; the teasing they'd get from the guys was more than enough already. {"Now, just how to handle this. . ."}

She refrained with some difficulty from smiling as she came up with the perfect solution. {"Ouch!"} she yelped silently as she bit down on the inside of her lower lip sharply, and sucked at the wound deeply, and returned her attentions to his neck, keeping her bent head and her dangling right sleeve in between him and the men standing in the doorway.

Now, she turned her head slowly, deliberately to survey everyone in the room, and the hair stood up on more than one neck as she drew back her lips in a wrinkly grimace and directed a long, extended snarly-hiss at them. The blood showing on her teeth and lips and dribbling from one corner of her mouth did nothing to increase their comfort level, and a fast glance showed blood surrounding teeth marks on the slender Englishman's throat. He made a tiny sound, and her face grew even more intent as she turned her attention back to him with a quick jerk of her head, and slowly, deliberately started licking the blood away from the perimeter with tiny little flicks of her tongue.

Goniff's harsh breathing was now easily heard, "Warden, please! Ya gotta do something! I don't think she's got a ruddy off-switch!" 

One of the aides snorted, "maybe she just needs someone better able to handle her! Someone a little more up to the job than him!"

Craig Garrison suppressed his heartfelt moan. Goniff didn't tend to take such comments in good spirits, not like he had at least pretended to in the beginning, and the others had the tendency to become offended on his behalf. His guys did NOT need any encouragement in whatever they were up to, and he was pretty sure the redhead didn't either, and he was even more sure pissing them off wouldn't help matters at all. {"Self-hypnosis? Code words? Blood?? HISSING??! Give me a break!"}

Kingston had an odd look on his face; well, truthfully, they all did, not the least of them being Meghada. Hers was a more disturbing combination of passion, blood lust, possessiveness, and downright evil than Garrison had seen recently, perhaps ever, and even knowing, well, being pretty sure, this was one big over-the-top performance, it still made him highly uncomfortable. Yes, it coincided with what the file had told them about the Baroness, it was truly a masterful impersonation, but still . . .

The woman rapidly shifted her attention to the man who had spoken and pulled away from Goniff, letting his hands fall free. He took advantage of her release to curl over and sink huddled onto himself and slightly moaning against the base of the wall. She really wished he'd stop making that sound; she wasn't sure the others were buying it, and anyway, it was getting her increasingly on edge; well, maybe that wasn't the right term, but it was certainly having an effect on her.

She never even spared a glance for her recent 'victim' though, just smiled, a smile of intent, of invitation, and swayed toward the brashly confident newcomer. In a deep Slavic accent, probably more apt to the screen than to real life, she coaxed him, her melting eyes, her swollen lips, all promising all her words were only hinting at. With her arms outstretched, "come, liebchen, come play with me, what beautiful music we will make together in the night," she purred, tempting him, all seductress, her former plaything apparently forgotten.

She skillfully hid the disgust she felt at the thought of touching this man, even pretending to desire him. With Goniff there was no pretense, at any level, but with this man, with anyone else, really, well, that was something quite different.

Kingston gave just a brief nod at the man, and watched carefully (though perhaps not so carefully as did Goniff from his forgotten position curled on the floor, though HE was careful no one saw him doing it. While he wasn't any too pleased at the idea of her trying that with anyone else, even as part of a job, for now he was just hoping that by the time she was finished with that idiot HE'D have got himself, well, a little more under control, more presentable.)

{"Breathe in, breathe out, think of really bad stuff. Earthquakes; no, probably not earthquakes. Volcanos maybe. Oh ruddy 'ell, definitely not volcanos! Train crashes? Giant spiders? Maybe just the breathing, yeah, breathe in, breathe out."}

The major wasn't all that sure he hadn't stepped in on some serious hanky-panky and he didn't trust the woman or Garrison's crew as far as he could throw them. Dillon could handle himself, he knew, so Kingston figured he'd find out the truth fast enough.

None of them, Dillon included, ever figured out later how the woman had gotten Dillon into that vulnerable position, so similar to the one they'd barged in on, so definitely, so quickly, but the look on Dillon's face as he realized he was unable to break away, as he felt her hot wet breath on his throat, watched those thoroughly evil eyes promising things he was now not too sure he was interested in experiencing, watching her mouth, seeing teeth that seemed more pointed than was natural, traces of blood showing on her lips and at the corners of her mouth, smelling the blood on her breath, well, that look was rapidly turning from arrogance to uneasiness, and now to downright panic as his eyes darted back to his commanding officer. "Major Kingston!" Dillon pleaded, as the attentions from the utterly sinister woman now centered on him.

Garrison took a fast glance, reading only total belief from everyone in the room; {"not that that's the case, but they're all doing a really good job of faking it!"} A fast glance at Actor and the return look told Garrison the ball was in his court, which he thought with some resignation seemed on a par with the rest of his day so far. He wasn't sure where this was headed, but figured he'd better derail the train right now, while there might still be survivors.

"Meghada! Listen to me! Come on, snap out of it" he spoke sharply. "Vlad is looking for you! Did you hear me? Vlad is looking for you!" He imbued those words with heavy theatrical significance.

Her heavy-lidded gaze slowly turned to him, {"really, Craig??! 'Vlad is looking for you?' That's the best you can do? Didn't know they had a copy of Stoker's book here; doesn't seem high-brow enough for the Mansion library, though, perhaps it's appropriate for this mission. And I admit, I probably started it, with all that 'beautiful music in the night' silliness, though I think we were both influenced by that woman's overly evocative name. 'Elisabeta' - Dracula's first wife, indeed!!"}.

She blinked rapidly several times, a puzzled look coming over her face, transforming it totally.

"Lieutenant Garrison? What . . .?" and she slowly looked around the room, seeing all the incredulous and horrified stares. She looked back at the man she was holding by the wrists, her head quirked to one side in bewilderment, obviously wondering just who he was, why she was touching him. She loosed her grip, backed away from him quickly, a frown edging onto her face. Her eyes brushed over the pale Englishman still huddled against the base of the wall.

"Goniff? What on earth?" She started to lick her lips, then stopped in shock, touched her lips questioningly, eyes widening at the smear of blood on her fingertips. {"I wonder if I should swoon, or would that be too much?"}. She decided that her reputation just wouldn't quite allow her to go that far, {"even self-hypnosis wouldn't turn me into a total missish twit, or so I would hope!",} so she settled for just giving a deep shudder, and wiping the remaining blood away with the back of her hand, and collapsed into one of the big armchairs, eyes still looking around the room as if asking for an explanation. Her fingers found the ruby scarf and pulled it away, her looking at it in wide-eyed disbelief before she dropped it to the floor beside her, starting to gather her loose hair into a thick braid automatically, gathering those dramatic sleeves into their concealed straps so they were somewhat less outre.

Dillon was back beside Major Kingston now, about three shades paler than when they'd entered the room. The other aide was looking like he'd have run for it if he thought he could get away with it. Kingston looked like he was wondering whether he shouldn't just shoot her for the safety of all involved, and Kevin Richards was trying to look severe and professional and concerned, but knowing him, she figured he was just considering giving her a good spanking at the first opportunity.

The explanations given by Actor and Garrison were surprisingly convincing, and on the table the open file, complete with pictures detailing the hairstyle, the overly dramatic style of attire, corroborated their efforts, and the officers with their two aides left rather quickly after handing over the remaining details on the mission; they gave her one last very uneasy look as they departed.

Garrison raised a hand, signaling there was to be no talking, til he saw the jeep and the men drive out of the mansion gates. Then he dropped his head, ran his fingers through his gold blond hair and in a utterly weary voice, "alright, would someone like to tell me just what the hell really was going on? And no, Casino, I'm NOT sure I want to know, but it's kind of my job, so let's just have it."

So he heard it all, and actually found it rather frightening that it all actually made some sense, about the legitimate discussion of the impersonation, her gradually trying on the character for size, the segue into the levels of scariness of that particular scene, one that would actually be required for the job, Casino pushing to get a demonstration, especially since Actor had insisted she'd need to practice that little sequence, but backing out at the last minute, deciding he'd rather be an 'impartial observer', and Goniff volunteering to partner with Meghada.

{"Well, of course he did. Like the two of them don't already get plenty of up-close-and-personal interaction!"} Garrison thought with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

And then, when Garrison and Kingston and Richards had shown up just as it had been decided that yes, she could handle the part quite convincingly, Actor had just, well, improvised! Garrison spared the time to give the tall Italian a rather dirty look to let him know just what the officer thought of the con-man's improvisational efforts, before turning to the safecracker.

"And, you, Casino? Your thoughts, since you were such an 'impartial observer'?"

"Well, Warden, looks like Beautiful was right. All depends on who's doing what to who. That aide of Kingston's looked about ready to shit his pants, didn't he, and she didn't carry it anywhere near as far with him as she did with Goniff. Hell, hadn't even got started!"

Chief drawled out at Goniff, slight smile teasing at his usually impassive face, "so, Goniff, didn't look like you were ready to shit your pants like that guy. Whatta ya think?"

"Well, Goniff?" Garrison asked with a reluctantly amused look.

The small Englishman got a totally wicked grin on a face that no longer had any appearance of bewildered innocence like before, "aint exactly the reaction I 'ad, no. But probably just as well they came in when they did, before I needed a change a clothes for other reasons. Didn't think I'd fancy it, you know, but I'll admit, it 'ad its moments," giving Meghada an arch look that somehow both indicated his firm approval of her acting ability and blatantly suggested a repeat performance, perhaps somewhere with fewer observers.

As the catcalls filled the room, Garrison let out a groan; somehow, he figured the rest of the briefing was pretty much a lost cause for tonight, and reached out to unlock the cupboard where the whiskey and glasses lived. He just sighed and shook his head when he realized the lock was permanently jammed in the 'open' position, although appearing locked unless you were right up on it. Right now, he was too weary to scold them or insist they fix it back; he just wanted a drink, maybe two.

He made a sincere effort to put that sight out of his mind, Goniff held tight up against that wall, Meghada leaning in doing whatever the hell she'd been doing. Well, both the sight and his own reaction to that sight, not to mention that deep husky moan that seemed to go straight to Garrison's groin. He figured those were things he just didn't want to think about, certainly not now! After all, he'd pretty well convinced his groin it was MIA for the duration, or had thought that was the case! And the fact that it wasn't the redhead, or at least not entirely, that had awakened the sleeping tiger, that was just disturbing!

Actor disappeared and came back with a bottle of antiseptic and a wad of cotton. Goniff sheared away from him with a frown, "ei, now just w'at are you thinking of doing with that?"

"Cleaning that bite; such things can be dangerous if left untreated," came the serious answer.

The totally bewildered look on Goniff's face came as a surprise, "bite? W'at bite?"

Actor sighed, {"he was so involved he didn't even feel her biting him? And I do think that was going a bit far just for a demonstration."} Actor stroked the dampened cotton over the smear on Goniff's neck, in spite of the pickpocket's protests, and looked more closely. Once the blood was cleared away, you could see there was no break in the skin, a little redness perhaps, slight indentations of what would have been teethmarks, but no break. Goniff glanced down at the cotton, rubbed at his neck.

"'Gaida, what'd you do? That blood 'ad to've come from somewhere. You need this stuff for you?"

She chuckled at him, sipping at the whiskey she'd picked up from the assortment of glasses on the table, wincing as she did so. "No, this is doing a better job. Still stings like crazy, though," running her tongue over the corner of her lip on the inside. "I wonder if there's any way to put blood in a capsule, one that won't dissolve easily, carry it along inside the jaw line like Casino's spring steel. Might come in handy, and I'd hate to have to bite myself like that too often! And there's a limit to how much blood you can get that way."

Garrison reached out for his own glass of whisky and took a deep swallow. Some days . . .

Meanwhile, later that night in London, four men were having decidedly uncomfortable dreams, perhaps not surprisingly, and on the morrow, one of them, Major Kingston, would carelessly, but inadvertently, put into play another chapter of the story, this one not nearly so amusing. He hadn't intended anything of the sort, of course, had even cautioned his two Aides to say nothing of that scene at the Mansion, and surprisingly enough they did exactly that; still, HE discussed it with Major Greenley, and Greenley didn't think it would hurt anything to discuss it with Major Kymer, who, to his credit didn't say anything to anyone, but since Major Kymer had an assistant who was both a careful listener and an inveterate gossip, that didn't really help much.

So it wasn't long before the tale was told, well, after being expanded and interpreted and re-interpreted, and in truth, the most ingenious movie makers of the day would have been disappointed if they'd heard the final version, for it put their own best efforts to shame.

And on a cold October night, a scene straight from one of Bela Lugosi's best, maybe with a touch from Lon Chaney thrown in, played out in the little village of Brandonshire, and Ben Miller had finally had enough. Two days later the Base was put on notice; Brandonshire was off limits except to the Special Forces teams, and even they were given strict guidelines about acceptable behavior. Some of those guidelines raised eyebrows sharply.

The general consensus from Ainsley's team was, "they're telling us we can't do WHAT???! Are they crazy down there??!" That is, till they heard the story, then they started wondering the same thing, but about the guys on the Base.

Major Richards was not only not amused, he was royally pissed off. Yes, that scene at the Mansion had been bizarre, but the explanation made sense. No, it was probably not the truth, not entirely, he was sure, but it made sense considering the mission the team had been involved in, and he had had no intention of challenging it. Honestly, there had been some amusing aspects to the whole thing, including the looks on Kingston's face, and his Aides, both the one who'd come up against that fascimile of the Baroness, AND the one fearful that he'd be next. And he had to admit, Meghada had been outstanding, her vivid interpretation of the Baroness breath-taking, both then, and in the field when the mission had been completed satisfactorily.

Let's face it, the Baroness was a remarkable piece of work! Richards had actually met her, and had no inclination to pursue the acquaintance; he was more than half convinced the woman actually believed all that nonsense, though the notion she just used that to play her diabolical games wasn't all that much more appealing.

Under any other circumstances, Richards would have snickered at that memory of Meghada doing whatever the hell she'd pretended to do back in the Common Room, but not now, not after the damage that had been done, the damage that had just barely prevented. For another officer to gossip about a mission, in any manner, was unacceptable, and for that gossip to cause harm to an agent, put an entire village, maybe far more, at risk, well, if he could have seen his way clear, that ass Kingston would have met him in the boxing ring before being cashiered.

The call from the doctor in Brandonshire, tersely telling him not to expect to be sending the Dragon on any missions any time soon, if ever, that shocked him, and the full story, once the fuming A J Riley told him the all, sickened him. What had happened to one he respected, cared for, it shook him to his core, thinking of facing her, her family. What could have happened, what could have been - what still might be lost, well, he had trouble even imagining it. When he was told about the village being posted as Off-Limits by the Constable, and to hell what the Base Commander or any one else thought about it, "including all of bloody London HQ!", he knew he had some serious fences to mend, some explanations to be made. He was grateful Garrison's team was gone on a mission; he didn't want to deal with the fall-out there quite yet.

"Joe, Kevin Richards here. We have a real problem with the Brandonshire situation, as I'm sure you've heard."

He listened to his old friend fret and fume and complain about the Constable putting Brandonshire off-limits, complaining that it was one thing for HIM to do so, with all the trouble that seemed to occur down there; for the village to do so was unacceptable.

"I see you heard the final results but not the situation that led up to it. Better open that bottom drawer of yours and let me fill you in. Yes, I know it's ten in the morning, but I assure you I am indulging, and I think you really need to as well." So he waited til Joe Anderson, Base Commander, old friend, filled a shot glass with barely-passable whiskey and outlined the scene.

"And when Ben Miller got there, she had fought them to a standstill, the whole damned lot of them, taking damage but keeping them away from the cottage. Sheila Riley, the local doctor's wife, had walked home with her from a meeting at the parsonage, them to go over some details there, and Miss O'Donnell had pushed her toward the cottage, toward safety; thankfully the cottage is on the telephone. Mrs. Riley called Ben Miller in a panic; he had pulled some of the villagers to assist him and took your men into custody."

"They found full cans of gasoline in their vehicles, gasoline and rags, and the men, your men, Joe, confessed they intended to burn her cottage to the ground, and her with it, or whatever was left of her. Never minding all else, Joe, and that's saying a lot! it's been a dry season; the whole village would have gone up, most likely every man, woman and child along with it, along with the surrounding countryside; who knows where it would have ended, maybe all the way back to the Base."

"And while Constable Miller was taking her statement, while the doctor had just pulled up in his car, one of the men who'd remained hidden rushed forward from the side, a blind-spot for her from earlier damage done, and dashed her across the side of the head with a shovel! Caught her at the outer edge of her eye, gashed her open from there back along side her head, blood everywhere, her going down like a log. Surprised she survived it; as it is, the doctor still doesn't know how much permanent damage might have been done; so far she has no sight out of that eye, along with the severe concussion along with all the rest. The Constable took him down, the fool, but he was still screeching about 'killing the vampire'."

"Joe, I don't know what you are feeding the men down there, what films you are showing, or what your source for liquor might be, or even how you are screening the men themselves, but they went down there to kill her and burn the place down! I'd say putting the place Off-Limits is the least you could have expected."

"Yes, I know where it started, with one of the officers up here, and I find it appalling! She was preparing for a mission, damn it! a bloody odd one as some of them are, as you well know, doing the damned job we asked her to do, that she's not even under contract to DO anymore; playing a part, risking her life doing it; someone, Major Kingston actually, saw something, took it as something possibly real even though he KNEW about the impersonation!, however hard that is to imagine, and started some wild talk and it got totally out of hand."

"Still, we now have a highly valuable ex-operative, one who now works strictly on a volunteer basis, no longer being under Contract, laid up with severe injuries because some of the men at your Base have, apparently, the IQ of a winter-froze sparrow. We have the rest of her contingent, both those under Contract and those who aren't, thoroughly pissed and who knows what the repercussions of that will be."

"Whether Miller put Brandonshire off limits or not, I'd not like to be the next Yank strolling in there! They're quite fond of her down there, you know, and they're more than a little riled up right now. It would have been THEIR homes going up in smoke, Joe, right along with hers, THEIR families caught in the flames, THEIR fields and livestock. Yes, best keep your men away. Miller will let you know if, when, if he thinks it's safe to lift the ban. Do NOT expect that to be any time soon!" 

They'd come back, tired but gleeful at their success against overwhelming odds and woeful luck. The odd looks from the guard at the gate should have warned them, perhaps, but considering they were covered in muck, well, odd looks were pretty much what they'd expected. The jeep had hit a pothole, more like a cavern, in the dark on the way back from London, had gone rolling, and while no one was hurt other than some heavy bruising, they were filthy with mud by the time they got it flipped back over and up onto the road again. The greeting from Gil Rawlins, though, that caught their attention. He'd greeted them, but with almost a fearful look, and asked to speak to Garrison alone, immediately, "if you would be so kind, sir."

Garrison had heard him out, staring in disbelief. "You have GOT to be kidding me," knowing from the almost tragic look on the non-com's face that he wasn't. He swallowed heavily, "what does Riley say?"

"Too early to tell much, 'e says. She's still all bandaged up; he's not letting anyone in to see 'er, though I imagine, now you and the team are back . . ." leaving unsaid all he knew, all he guessed about the connection between the Mansion and the Cottage. He picked up the phone, listened to what he was told, and made his way up to the Common Room.

"Goniff, can you come to my office? We need to talk," and with a wondering expression on his weary face, the pickpocket followed him down. The others looked at each other, and Casino made a questioning motion toward the rigged intercom.

Actor shook his head, "no, we'd better not, not without Goniff saying it was alright." They all waited, heard the roar of anguished fury coming from below, something they'd never heard from their teammate before, and together, surged out the door, to join him in front of Garrison's desk. The officer looked almost as bad as their teammate, who looked at them with an expression they'd never seen, one they couldn't even begin to describe.

"I gotta get down there, I gotta know . . ."

"Yes, and Riley says that's what he expected you'd say, but she's sleeping now, he's given her something, so it's best to wait til morning. That's only a few hours . . ." to get a furiously shaken head.

"No, I'll wait to see 'er, if that's w'at 'e says, but I'll wait down there. I can't stay 'ere, I can't, Warden, you know I can't," and Garrison looked into those frantic blue eyes, and nodded.

"Yes, I know you can't. I'll order up a jeep."

While they waited, they heard about what had happened, and none of them could begin to comprehend. Actor was starting to look stricken, and Casino not far behind, and Garrison could tell what they were thinking.

"NO! It was not your fault! Someone talked, about an ongoing mission, talked and a lot more. What she was experimenting with, yes, it was bizarre, but it wasn't a game; it was something that needed to be done. She USED that on the mission, you know she did, and it made the whole thing work. If she hadn't had that experience, that trial, it might not have worked and we could have lost her and part of the team as well, and the General too. That was an accident, Kingston and the others arriving at the wrong time, walking in at the wrong moment. Letting it play out, that was a valid test and you know it! These guys are stupid idiots and they listened to whoever talked, and they watched too many horror movies, and they got drunk and . . . It was NOT your fault! Don't go there!"

And they took a deep breath and listened to him, but in the end, they were all in that jeep that headed down to the Cottage to meet with AJ Riley, to sit and wait to see just how bad it truly was.

Riley shook his head at them when they trooped in, but didn't send them away. Sheila was there as well, and she pulled out blankets and pillows, settling Garrison in the library on that Murphy bed, the others in the adjoining two cottages in the beds and cots there, but Goniff she let curl up in one of the arm chairs in the sitting room til she realized he was just shifting from one position to the other, never being still more than just a few minutes, and that interval getting less and less as the time went by.

Then she went and laid her hand on his shoulder, whispered in his ear, and when getting his eager nod of agreement, took him in to settle him into the armchair in Meghada's bedroom, pulled close to the side of her bed. She tucked a blanket around him, a pillow under his head and went to the kitchen to face her husband and his possible disapproval.

Instead AJ pulled her close, "and did you get him settled properly?" and sighed at her slightly-guilty nod.

"Well, I'd not expect him to want to be elsewhere, not if she's chosen well, and wouldn't respect him if he was satisfied elsewhere. He's not what I would have expected, you know, not that I truly expected her to choose anyone, with her being Dragon. They don't, more often than not, of course."

Sheila smiled into his shoulder, "she'll not have chosen him if he weren't the right one, you know that, my love. It's not for us to try and judge, neither him for being chosen nor her for the choosing."

And anytime they looked in, he was in the chair, but never asleep, but watching her, lying there so still. That is, til closer to morning, when he left the chair, taking the blanket and pillow, and made a place for himself on the floor by her bed, now holding her hand, his head resting on the bed beside her. A cold, uncomfortable spot, perhaps, but AJ and Sheila thought perhaps one that afforded some level of comfort to the both of them, for on their last glance in, her hand was resting against his cheek, and her unseeing face turned towards him. In fact, their positions, though reversed now, were amazing similar to those in the dorm after that episode with the Miggs family.

When the others streamed in, coffee was brewed and waiting, breakfast ready to be prepared, but all attention on the bedroom, where the young woman was now awake and seated in a straightback chair for the doctor to remove the bandages from over her eyes. She was trembling, they could see that, and more so when AJ started to unwrap the long strips.

"Wait, that aint right," and Riley looked, puzzled at the Englishman.

"Not right?"

"No. Luv, scoot forward, as far as you can now," and she did so unquestioningly, carefully, feeling with her hands along the sides of the chair. He swung his leg over the back, settling down behind her, wriggling into position. "Now, move back, lean into me," he murmured, paying no attention to the audience or the looks they gave each other. She exhaled, the tension leaving her body, the slightest of smiles coming to her face as if in relief at his touch, and with his arms around her waist they waited while AJ uncovered her eyes.

The stitches were painfully stark against her skin, the bruising just as much so, wildly vivid. The gauze and pad was removed from her eye, the matted liquid soaked away, til she was able to open her eyelid.

A bolder smile, and "yes, there is light and shapes and . . . Yes, I can see out of it!" and a cheer from around the room, and a hard embrace from those arms that hadn't let her go.

His blond head leaned over looking at her from the side. "Green, pink, red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and . . . You know, I think you 'ave all the colors of the rainbow in your face, 'Gaida," he told her, casually, rather as if remarking on the display in a florists window.

Garrison and Actor looked at each other, appalled at the lack of tact, and Casino and Chief just rolled their eyes at their less than subtle teammate.

"You know, Limey, sometimes . . ." Casino started to reprimand him when Goniff continued, "a sight for sore eyes, you are, 'Gaida; aint nothing so pretty as a rainbow, you know," and he leaned down to nestle his head against hers, and she made just a tiny sound, a sob mingled with a chuckle, and the look on their faces, well, the guys knew, no matter how much it hadn't sounded like it, their teammate had said just the right thing.


End file.
